


Hallelujah

by corrupted_quiet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Sub!Dean, Worship, bottom!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-24
Updated: 2012-06-24
Packaged: 2017-11-08 10:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/442259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corrupted_quiet/pseuds/corrupted_quiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I've heard there was a secret chord<br/>That David played, and it pleased the Lord<br/>But you don't really care for music, do you?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hallelujah

All Dean can feel is the heat, the intoxicating, loving heat. Fires of passion swell, engulfing him as the angel rocks him back and forth, moving his hips to and fro, then back, a hand stroking the small of his back, up meaning forward, down for back. Another hand grips his shoulder, tight around the handprint, the mark Castiel left behind from their very first meeting, back when Castiel descended to the darkest place, the den of hatred and heat.

Now they’re in a new place, uniting together in balmy privacy, only this time rather than screams of tortured souls, he hears pleasurable groans. Instead of the overwhelming vibe of terror, the room fills with the comforting air of safety, of protection, of care. And there is not a shred of hostility, all animosity banished from their presence, unable to stand the intensity and power of what Castiel has, on occasion, referred to as his Father’s greatest creation; love. 

Dean gasps, choking on the heavy air, a shiver rippling down his spine. His head lolls back, but he fights to keep his eyes on Castiel. His legs wrap around the angel a little tighter, squeezing his effeminate hips, a foot rubbing against his spine. He pulls him closer, fingers digging into the skin of Castiel’s slender shoulders, trying to eliminate all distance. They have to be close, as close as they can get, close like they were that very first day, soul and grace reaching out for one another, ablaze inside their suits of florid skin. 

Chapped lips suckle on Dean’s neck, tender and slow. They linger a little, savouring the taste of the hunter’s salty skin. His mind drifts in and out between the sweet now and the misty then, the day he cradled the luminous soul and carried him back to the light, the day he sewed Dean’s body back together from scraps of flesh, restoring his skin to smooth perfection, no scars or scrapes to be found.

Dean Winchester was always crafted for greatness, he knows, only it wasn’t until that day when he truly realised the magnitude of it. How he was not simply meant to lead, but to be worshipped, as a righteous king on a crusade of free will. And while he is still human, Castiel sees him as something beyond that, something so pure and magnificent that he—a soldier of God, an angel of the Lord—always stares stunned and starstruck at his very existence. 

Castiel’s lips slowly trail up Dean’s neck, feeling the blood run flaming beneath his skin, moistened with sweat. He embraces Dean, pressing his chest to the hunter’s, the touch coaxing another low, gruff moan, this one brusque and raw. Dean releases one of Castiel’s shoulders, hand darting for his mob of greasy dark hair, clutching the locks tightly between his fingers. He tugs on them as he shifts his weight forward, sensations rippling through him as Castiel goes in deeper. 

“Shit…” Dean mutters, tilting his head to the side so Castiel can nibble lightly on his earlobe. His head rolls forward, burying his face in the burrow of Castiel’s shoulder as he arches his shoulders, holding in what would be a long cry. It’s painful to swallow, hard to stifle just like that, mouth and throat vibrating to the angel’s skin as he forces it down. 

“Shhh…Dean,” Castiel whispers. He doesn’t talk most of the time, too concentrated on his movements to waste time with words. Though sometimes just the sound of that gravelly voice is enough to but Dean on edge, and when Castiel is in control, he wants everything drawn out, tempting time with their easy tempo, turning each night into Heaven for them. He wants them to be lasting—everlasting—Dean so deserving of love, and Castiel serving him by showing him just how deeply and thoroughly the hunter has touched his being, touched his grace. 

Dean raises his head, lips pressing to his cheek. He turns his head, another little shudder crawling up his spine from a sensual touch, blinking several times to see through the blinding carnal haze. He meets blazing blue eyes, aglow with lascivious desire and fiery passion, the sort that burns away the thought of sin, promising no such thing for them. This is not something to feel guilt for, all the bad purged by these temporal joys, that which shan’t fleet any time soon, the love everlasting. 

Castiel lowers Dean down on him as he leans in for a kiss, claiming Dean’s half-open mouth. Dean’s fingers lace with the hair, kissing back with all the force he can muster, muscles all taut as their tongues slide next to one another, each invading the other’s mouth. He won’t let go, won’t break the kiss, not even to breathe, bringing himself closer as he dwells for eternities in perfect lip lock. 

When Castiel hits the prostate, however, Dean has to pull away, Castiel drawing a curt broken whimper from his lips. The hunter folds in his bottom lip, an ill attempt to extinguish the sound. He usually doesn’t care how loud he gets, normally indulging in the raunchy vocalisations during these steamy hours, but tonight he won’t let himself. Maybe it’s because he’s still getting used to the submission, for some reason hesitant to come off as too eager, too zealous. 

“Fuck, Cass,” He says, breathless, torn between lying back or jerking forward. He just hovers in the ecstasy, the blazes shooting through him, the might of liquid lightning coursing through his veins, tingling and flaming.

Castiel ushers Dean back into his hold, planting gentle kisses on reluctant lips, too careful, too soft, too cautious. He eases his clasp on Dean’s shoulder, which just encourages Dean to tighten his vice on the angel’s body. A smile curves on his lips, the cling assuring him that he’s doing things right, that he shouldn’t stop, that he’s doing just what Dean wants. And that’s all he wants to do; please his noble, righteous man, please him with the delight of love untold, love only known when felt, love Castiel did not even know until recently. 

“I’ve got you,” Castiel breathes, shutting his eyes as Dean peppers the side of his face with kisses, each one quick and ravenous, avid and ardent and starving for more. Another easy thrust prompts another drawling moan from Dean, one sweeter than any prayer, than any hymn, than any hallelujah. He rests his head on Dean’s shoulder, exposing his neck for Dean to bite and kiss, letting the bliss fall upon him as well, basking in its glory. 

Castiel will always have Dean, always have him to worship and marvel upon, and always there for him to grip and love, mending any of his wounds. This is all he wants, and the angel could never ask for more.


End file.
